


Soft

by ginwrites



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Comfort, Depression, Implied Sexual Content, Intimacy, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Rick still tries to take his clothes off, Sleepy Cuddles, but trust me it's wholesome, implied adultery, this may just be the most wholesome thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 09:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13004451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginwrites/pseuds/ginwrites
Summary: Sometimes when he asks for advice (or absolution, or a strong drink), all he really needs is something soft in a world full of sharp edges. Post-Flesh Curtains, pre-canon. Just a short one shot about intimacy.





	Soft

“Would you be _lieve_ what she said about me, Pers? About m-me?!”

“I believe she called you a 'fuckboy’, Rick.”

“Yeah! Can you - can you fucking believe that?! I'm not a fuckboy!”

The outrage in the young man's voice was only softened by the unreasonable amount of alcohol he had clearly ingested before coming to his best friend in the world for reassurance on this topic. Birdperson stood stoically in the kitchen of their cheap shared apartment, which was as always a mess of empty bottles and crumpled pizza boxes, while Rick leaned against the counter, barely supporting himself with one skinny arm.

“That does sound like something a 'fuckboy’ would say.” He responded without an ounce of humour in his intonation, although he had to admit the obvious humorousness of the situation.

“Pers! C’mon! I - I - I didn't even remember her _name_ until today!”

Rick threw up his hands in a gesture of placation, which only led to him tumbling backwards and colliding with the fridge. The feathered man swooped forward to steady him as best he could, only barely succeeding in keeping Rick from landing ass-first on the grimy kitchen floor.

“I rest my case.”

With a long suffering sigh, Birdperson supported his weight further with an arm around his narrow shoulders and began dragging him in the direction of the bedroom.

“Peeeeers…”

The human groaned, but didn't put up much of a fight. Soon he was spread-eagled across the unmade bed, extremities sprawled unevenly in all directions like an intoxicated starfish. Birdperson made a half-hearted attempt at covering him with his somewhat stained duvet, but soon gave up and went to fetch his friend a glass of water. Even if he didn't appreciate it now, he certainly would once he woke up in the morning. When he returned, Rick was in much the same position, but now conspicuously missing the black skinny jeans he had previously been sporting. As Birdperson carefully placed the glass on his already crammed bedside table, the supposedly unconscious Rick inched open one eye experimentally.

“Looks like ya got m-me in a real - URRP! - a real compromising position there, Pers…”

Birdperson arched a single feathery eyebrow questioningly but did not respond. This clearly frustrated Rick, who rolled over onto his side and fixed him with a blearly but intent gaze.

“Would ya look at that…!” He emphasised, gesturing pointedly to his naked legs.

“Yes. You appear to have removed your pants in record time. Well done, Rick.” The other responded dryly.

Despite his unenthused demeanor, he couldn't help but hazard a quick glance at Rick’s lower half, which was lanky but surprisingly toned, considering the excessive substance abuse he so often indulged in.

“Don't think there's anyone in the - in the multiverse who’d blame ya for taking advantage of me like this…” Rick continued, unperturbed by his friend's attitude.

He accompanied his word with an exaggerated pose, each and every movement made clumsy by the alcohol which still had its hold on him. The intoxication also added a strange softness to the pose - one leg stretched, the other with its pointed knee crooked upwards, drawing the gaze, as intended, directly to Rick's crotch. Unlike Birdperson's own body, nothing here was soft. Rick was all bony elbows and ribs and erratic movements, so to see his attempt at seduction, however blackout drunk he might be, was beyond unusual. He had an odd look in his eyes as well, one that Birdperson couldn't quite place, but one that nevertheless tugged at something inside him that he didn't much care to encourage.

“Get some sleep.”

With these blunt words, he made to edge past the bed and back out into the hallway, where he could continue his research into the Intergalactic Federation's more dubious trade dealings and not dwell too long on what exactly his drunk friend had been implying. Rick, however, had other ideas, and reached out to grab him, thin, almost skeletal fingers wrapping clumsily around his feathered wrist. Another long-suffering groan left Birdperson's lips, but he allowed himself to be dragged back to Rick's bedside, where he plopped himself down reluctantly on the edge of the mattress. In an effort at keeping his eyes from wandering further, Birdperson inclined his head to study his face. In the dim purple light that fell in from the street lamp outside, Rick's expression appeared suddenly blank. Deep lines seemed etched into his features, lines Birdperson had never seen before. They had been through a great deal together, just the two of them and Squanchy, since those carefree days on the big stage, but he often forgot that beneath all the jokes and the drinking it must be just as hard on Rick as it had been on him. Why else would he spend so much time in this dingy old flat of theirs when he now had a family to go home to, a beautiful wife and a young daughter?

The hold on his wrist suddenly loosened as Rick's hand withdrew, leaving Birdperson feeling laughably adrift on the edge of the bed. If only as a way of finding something to do with his hands, he grasped the crumpled duvet and pulled it up to cover Rick's bare legs and torso, letting it rest across his narrow shoulders, which were hunched. There was a tension there, Birdperson realised, as he studied their dark outline against the violet window. Of course, most uncharacteristic of all, Rick was silent. So silent in fact, that his friend would have questioned whether he had dropped off to sleep after all, had he not been able to tell that those annoyingly intelligent eyes still peered up at him out of the darkness.

“Are you alright?”

He immediately scolded himself internally for this sappy sentiment. It was the sort of thing Rick would no doubt relentlessly make fun of - if not now, then in the morning, once he had regained his remarkable capacity for mockery. However, much to Birdperson's surprise, he remained silent. Instead the human shuffled backwards beneath the covers wordlessly, a gesture impossible to misinterpret, even for someone as prolifically bad at reading people as Birdperson was. All of a sudden it was as though his limbs had made up their own mind, resolutely ignoring his usual misgivings, his habit of weighing pros and cons against each other, of dithering relentlessly until the moment passed. His legs swung up and onto the mattress and with almost mechanical movements he joined Rick under the duvet, where he felt himself immediately enveloped by a strong scent of liquor, of bowls of cereal in bed, of chemicals that had no place in a home let alone in someone's bed - a scent so overpoweringly, undeniably _Rick_ that it felt like a punch to the gut.

Once again Birdperson's expectations were disproven as Rick did not make another pass at him now that he was faced with such a promising opportunity. Instead he rolled over once more and lay silently with his back to his friend, who lay immobile as a statue. All he could do was stare at the ceiling, utterly baffled by the situation he found himself in. During their days as the Flesh Curtains, touring the multiverse with shows so uproarious they scandalised even the most voracious aliens, the two of them had shared the occasional fumbled kiss backstage or in a darkened corner of some bar or another, but their encounters had always been coloured by intoxication and need. Never once had there been a sense of intimacy between them other than the trust they shared, and even that was difficult to achieve with someone like Rick, who had always been guarded when it came to these things, lest it cause him some sort of weakness. Of course Birdperson was used to utterly misreading people, but when it came to his best friend he had allowed himself the impression that he had learnt to read him at least in part.

He was prevented from sinking even more deeply into his contemplation by that same demanding pressure around his wrist. Rick's hand had closed around it a second time, this time almost pinching his feathers as he tugged it around his narrow waist. Without thinking, Birdperson complied, shuffling closer to his friend's slender form beneath the covers. As though this was the most natural thing in the world, Rick shifted back against him. His movements weren't seductive, however, merely comfortable, as he curled up with his back to the larger man's warm, feathered chest. The soft sigh of absolute contentment was what finally quashed Birdperson's doubts. Something about this felt oddly familiar, he couldn't bring himself to question it any further. Resigned to his momentary fate he lowered his head onto the pillow beside Rick's, resting his chin on his bare shoulder almost as an afterthought. He would deal with the repercussions - or lack thereof - when the hazy purple light from the streetlamp was replaced with the far harsher light of morning and they both were forced to resume their respective lives.


End file.
